


Bottled Cheer

by puckity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-28
Updated: 2005-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puckity/pseuds/puckity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus intensely dislikes the holidays, and would rather forego the presents and well-wishing altogether. But someone won’t let Severus spoil it for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottled Cheer

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005 for and dedicated to Cactuskim.
> 
> Set pre-Harry coming to Hogwarts, post-Voldemort's first fall, but I do reference some HBP. I took for granted that this is the first year Snape is teaching and Slughorn was the Potions professor before him.
> 
> Beta'd by the brilliant Rachel.
> 
> You can also follow me on [Tumblr](http://puckity.tumblr.com/).

Flickering candlelight flared golden along a row of glass bottles. Shelves of potions and ingredients chimed softly—almost musically—if one was musically inclined. Severus Snape was not, naturally, but he stood back and appreciated the sight of order and organization that spanned the walls of his office. _His_ office. It sounded appropriate, deserved. Severus deserved this office, and it was about time that he actually got it.

Of course, it wasn’t the exact office he wanted. No, that one was tucked away in the sprawling corridors above ground. It was sunlit and—not really pleasant, but not actively unpleasant either. This was of no consequence however, because Severus didn’t care whether the western sky glowed in his windows at dusk or not. He had wanted that position; he had wanted it too much. Albus had seen his desire and stifled it. Instead he had been stuck with that tottering mass of a man Slughorn joking at him—no one really joked _with_ Severus—while he was still an observing junior professor about all the frivolous ingredients Slughorn had indulged in with the school’s funds. It was insufferable to hear of these foolish excesses and insulting to have it suggested that he continue the tradition. But it all was bearable until the fool began to recount his days of teaching during Severus’s years as a student. Having the names of his tormentors jovially praised was one thing, but facing the names of his victims—if not by his wand at least by his compliance—was something else entirely. He tried not to get caught alone with Slughorn outside of the Great Hall, when Albus could distract him long enough for Severus to escape.

No, this wasn’t the office he wanted. But it was an office, and he deserved that. He had even found a practical use for most all of Slughorn’s wasteful purchases. He couldn’t think of any potion—save Idol Elixir, which made a person immediately become the center of attention and general infatuation and which was an embarrassing excuse for magic—that would use selkie tears, but other than that he had found useful alternatives for everything in his storage. After a moment or two of letting his pride swell at these accomplishments, Severus sat down at his desk and began finalizing his inventory. The candle burned hard, and the browning parchment gleamed harshly. Black ink stains from Slughorn’s days irked Severus as he tried to concentrate on numbers and ignore imperfections. He moved his free hand to cover a particularly large stain; judging by the irregularities in the past counts and the lack of cleanliness Severus assumed that Slughorn had students keep these tallies for him and didn’t bother to check on them often, if ever.

Scanning down the list, checking off ingredients he would not need for the next term and listing those he would on a separate piece of parchment, Severus paused at a faded name. _Siberian Sandmoss_. He briefly considered requesting it for next term, then laughed bitterly at his own rash wish. Siberian sandmoss was something Slughorn hadn’t blinked twice at getting. It was rarer than most imported ingredients, and cost twice what it should have because the collectors had to go into Siberia and harvest it at Winter Solstice. The weather alone killed off most collectors, and if the dates weren’t precise the twenty-five hour bloom would be missed and the harvest would be fruitless. Because of its rarity and demand, the potions black market was rife with thieves and tricksters trying to pass off fermented gillyweed or any number of other plants as sandmoss. Naturally, the ingredient was worth the hassle; it made the strongest healing potions ever successfully applied. But it had another, lesser known use, one that Slughorn probably hadn’t been aware of himself. In its pure form, unhindered by a potion, Siberian sandmoss acted as something of a euphoria-inducer. It caused the person who took it to fall into a catatonic state and recall things from the past that were consciously hidden or obstructed. In too large a dose it could permanently impair a person, but with careful calculation it was almost as if forgotten memories could be relived. And it was selective, only targeting the lost memories that would make a person happy. Severus thought of all his happy memories; it didn’t even take one hand to count them on. The idea of a bit of ground sandmoss in his evening tea and a few hours of uninterrupted bliss was terribly tempting.

But this was all utterly ridiculous. Slughorn might not have known about all of Siberian sandmoss’s uses, but Dumbledore undoubtedly would. Plus the cost and the fact that Winter Solstice had already passed—it all added up to pointless dreams. He checked off the entry and turned the page, already noting how his supply of fungi was dwindling oddly low.

“Severus?” Snape finished the tally he was working on and looked up. Minerva McGonagall looked severe, even framed in the dim yellow light, but not as severe as Severus had seen her before. He put down his quill and attempted a polite smile, though it felt more like a muscle spasm of the lips.

“What can I do for you, Minerva?” His tone was cool, but not condescending. He knew Professor McGonagall was close with Dumbledore, and he treated her with the respect that required.

McGonagall pursed her lips in a business-like fashion. “Albus wanted to know if you would care to join us for the Yule feast? Even Sybil has descended from on high to mingle with us commoners.” Minerva bit off Trelawney’s name and Severus hid a smirk. She caught it and focused a serious gaze on him. “I think it would mean a great deal to Albus if you joined us.”

Severus tried to suppress a sigh. He loathed festivities, and had better things to do with his time than listen to cheerful banter and marvel at a giant, gaudily decorated tree. Minerva watched him and he had the uncomfortable sensation that she knew exactly what he was thinking. The growing sense of scrutiny annoyed him, and he stood up suddenly.

“Let me just finish a few tallies so I can get the ingredient list to Filch. It shouldn’t take too long.” McGonagall nodded curtly and left, just as abrupt as she ever was. Severus let out a frustrated groan and returned to his desk, wondering how long he could take before an irate Minerva returned.

\---

“May this pleasurable season bring us relief from the fear of the past.” Dumbledore glanced around the table, but Severus felt his eyes linger particularly long on him. “And may this new year remind us that nothing is so terrible today that another tomorrow cannot mend.” Cups of pumpkin juice and butterbeer clinked together around the table—Sinistra tapped Severus’s glass from the seat next to him—and hearty cheers chorused around him. He tried not to look as sour as he felt.

“Of course, the powers of the world are shifting. One evil may be gone, but more circle us. I’m afraid that my Inner Eye sees only death and pain in our future.” Sybil was dictating her usual omens of doom for the table, few of whom were actually listening. Minerva cut her Cornish hen with swift and violent strokes. Severus idly chewed a piece of ham, only catching bits and phrases of what Sinistra was telling him about lunar correlation or something of that sort.

“Is there no hope at all, Sybil?” Albus glanced up kindly from his plate.

“Well…” She trailed off slightly, clearly unnerved at the prospect of informing the Headmaster that the future was utterly black. She pushed her massive lens back up her nose and smiled tightly. “I mean, there is always _hope_ , it just depends on how much and how it is interpreted. For instance, I heard an elderly witch in Dover tried to jump off the cliffs out there, but the winds were so strong that she couldn’t make it up to the edge. On one hand, she was unable to kill herself and that was hopeful, but on the other hand her house blew down in the winds, and that—as I’m sure you all know—is an omen for financial ruin.”

“Financial ruin for the builders, undoubtedly. After all, no one would want to buy a house that couldn’t even stand a gust now and then.” Minerva grinned smugly at Sybil, who staunchly avoided eye contact and refused to reply. Not that Severus would ever stoop to that level of childish bickering, but he had to admit that the inevitable spats between Minerva and Sybil were amusing, in moderate doses.

The chatter remained civil for the rest of the feast, and as it began to taper off presents started being exchanged. Severus frantically searched for an excuse to leave. He wouldn’t get presents, that much he already knew, and he hadn’t gotten presents for any of the other professors so this would invariably be awkward and tiresome. He lingered away from the tree and watched Minerva grudgingly offer Sybil a primly wrapped package. As Dumbledore rounded past him, Severus seized his opportunity.

“Headmaster, may I be excused? I’m afraid I was not really prepared for—for that,” Severus motioned to the tree in general, “and _sensibly_ I don’t belong here at all. Plus, I really must finish my ingredient list for next term.”

Albus eyed him shrewdly. Severus had grown accustomed to it, and forced himself to meet his gaze. “Sense is often overrated, Severus.” A twinkle sparked in his eye. “And what of the other professors’ presents for you?” Severus shifted rigidly, then answered in low tones.

“I’m well aware that I don’t have any presents waiting for me under that tree.”

Albus tilted his head and kept watching Severus. He was waiting for something, and Severus didn’t know what it was.

“Very well, if you are certain you would rather be cooped up in those dank dungeons instead of up here celebrating with the rest of us.” Severus detected a hint of reproach, but he ignored it and nodded abruptly. He thanked the Headmaster and turned on his heel, already regretting his attendance at the feast.

\---

The key clicked in his office door lock, and he muttered _“Lumos!”_ as he walked into the darkness. A few wall torches ignited, and the candle on his desk illuminated. He closed the door behind him, irritated by the situation and his own insecurities, and still unsettled over Dumbledore’s behavior. He was too used to the leeway Albus gave him; he assumed that he would get what he wanted from the Headmaster. Perhaps Dumbledore had decided that it was time Severus started learning to accept no.

In the firelight, Severus was suddenly aware that something was not right, something was different from how he had left it. He turned to his desk and saw a dull silver bottle sitting on his closed record book. It certainly was no ingredient of his. He pulled out his wand, ready for an explosion or hex to come at him. It was obviously a prank, something the students seemed to find tirelessly clever.

 _“Evanesco!”_ Snape waited for the offending object to disappear, but the spell seemed to be absorbed into the bottle instead. This was certainly more advanced than anything any of the imbecile children at this school could conceive. The thought of a truly dangerous object appearing in his office caused him to fight down panic. Surely, it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. It was impossible.

Severus approached his desk, knowing that he had to discern more about this object before he could effectively deal with it. Standing over it he noticed a note pinned under the bottle’s edge. He lifted the white parchment and read the familiar scrawled handwriting.

 

**There is nothing so terrible today that another tomorrow cannot mend.**

  
More confused now than frightened, Severus picked up the bottle and flipped the cap open. Cautiously he inhaled the musty scent. He stood there motionless, running over events in his mind. Still trying to understand, he pulled a sheet of labels from his drawer and printed _Siberian Sandmoss_ across one. Severus wondered at it, couldn’t comprehend it no matter how he tried. It didn’t make sense.

\---

After the candle burned to its wick, Severus finally decided that Dumbledore may have been somewhat partially correct. Occasionally, sense was rather overrated.


End file.
